Like The Time Before The Time Before
by ariel2me
Summary: A collection of pre-series asoiaf drabbles Chapter 17: Willas Tyrell giving his brother the name Garlan the Gallant
1. Chapter 1: Argella Durrendon

**Argella Durrendon**

Her father's ghost followed her from the sept where she said the vows that would bind her to Orys Baratheon to the bedchamber where Orys took her maidenhood. Argella saw his face in the shadow - her father's blood-soaked face with hollowed eyes where the vultures had feasted on them – watching, judging, and condemning her.

_Blame your men for their fickle loyalty, for laughing at me when I declared myself the Storm Queen after you died, _she whispered into the night to a father who was a father no longer, who was human no more. She could feel the chains on her skin still, could still taste the pain and humiliation as her own men dragged her naked to be dumped in front of Orys Baratheon.

She married the man who slayed her father, true, but she also married the man who wrapped her bruised, battered flesh with a blanket, who ordered the chains removed, who gave her wine to soothe her parched throat. He was the enemy, but the men she had trusted with her life had turned out to be enemies too. He was the conqueror, but her people had consented to be conquered, in fact were willing to sacrifice her to save themselves.

When Orys whispered her name on their wedding night, she saw the tears slid down her father's cheeks from eyes that didn't exist. When she whispered Orys' name as he came, she heard her father's cry of fury and frustration. When Orys' seeds took hold inside her, she could feel her father's mangled hands clawing inside her belly, trying to snuff out the life growing inside. She screamed and screamed from the vicious pain, but the maester could find nothing wrong, could give her no potion to ease the agony.

"He would kill it," she screamed. "He would kill your baby, just as you had slayed him. My father."

"It is your baby too, Argella," Orys whispered to her sadly, his hands caressing her swollen belly.

_Did you hear that, Father? A Durrendon as much as a Baratheon, that is who I am carrying. Spare him!_

"Your father can do us no harm. He is dead," Orys tried to convince her.

But Argella knew better. `The dead did not stay dead for long. They lived on in the ones they left behind.


	2. Chapter 2: Marya Seaworth

**Marya Seaworth**

Her husband left home with a ship full of onions and salt fish, and came home with a knighthood and a piece of land in Cape Wrath. "Our sons will never have to risk their lives flouting the law like I did," he told her, relieved.

He told their sons about the new home they would soon move to, about the new life they would soon embark on, about the new future they would be able to avail themselves of. She smiled and laughed alongside her boys, but her husband did not miss the shadow behind her smiles, the crack underneath her apparent joy.

"I want to know about the other things too," she whispered to him softly, when he stroked her face at night and kissed her forehead.

So he told her about the piercing cries of hungry children, skeletal men trying to move in armors that looked far too big and too heavy on them, horses' bones, rats' bones, and the young lord with fleshless face and fleshless limbs who still looked defiant against all the odds. He told her about the crackling sound when cleaver met bones. He told her about the pain that no maester's potion could alleviate.

She stitched the pouch herself, thread by laborious thread, by the flickering light of the candle. He had been carrying the bones in a sack he held in his hand always. The other hand. The one not missing four fingers. "To remind me of Lord Stannis' justice," her husband had said when asked why he had not thrown the bones away.

When she gave the leather pouch to her husband, she took out the bones from the sack herself, held them in her palm and inspected them carefully, so she could remember each and every bone forever. This was part of him, part of the man she loved. She stored the bones in the pouch and handed the pouch to her husband.

"Wear it around your neck," she said to him.

"Why?" Her husband asked.

"To remind me of Lord Stannis' justice," she repeated her husband's words, but suspected she meant something quite different by them than what he had meant when he said those words.


	3. Chapter 3: Jon Connington

**Jon Connington**

"She cried listening to my song, Jon. She understands. What it's like to not be free, to live like a trapped bird in a pretty cage."

_I have shed tears too. For your songs. For you. For the us that never was, and never will be. _

He knew what it was like to live like a trapped bird too. To live every day lying to the world, lying to himself, about who he was, what he wanted, what he needed.

About who he loved.

Those words he could never say. Not to his silver prince. So he did the right thing and he counseled Rhaegar about his duties. His responsibilities. His wife. His children. His kingdom. How could a prince abandon all of that for a mere girl?

"She is more than just a girl. I need her," Rhaegar insisted.

"You need her? You love her, do you mean?" Jon asked, perturbed.

"I need her," Rhaegar said darkly, and refused to divulge further. "My wife and my children, I leave them in your care for the time being."

Elia refused to believe that Jon did not know where Rhaegar was headed. "He would have confided in you," she confronted him time and time again. "His most trusted companion, his beloved friend. How could you not know what he had been planning?"

_Beloved_. He repeated the words in his mind over and over again. Rhaegar trusted him, depended on him, but did not love him. Rhaegar loved his lady wife, Jon had secretly despaired at one time, but that was beginning to seem less and less likely now. For how could you love someone, yet went on to pile humiliation after humiliation upon them?

Rhaegar needed his wild northern girl, but was need truly the same as love?

"I have loved, and I have lost," Elia said bleakly.

Jon wished he could have said the same, but he could not. He had loved, yes, but he had not lost, for how could you lose someone that was never yours to begin with?


	4. Chapter 4: Jeor Mormont

**Jeor Mormont**

The letter from his sister Maege had been short, as was her wont. "Jorah has fled. Bear Island is now in my care," was all she had written.

"Lord Stark is waiting for you, Lord Commander," his steward reminded him again.

It was not out of the ordinary for the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North to come to Castle Black; the Wall, after all, was in his land. And Lord Stark counted a younger brother among the Black Brothers. But Mormont knew Ned Stark's reason for coming this time had naught to do with the business of the Night's Watch, or with his brother Benjen.

"I do not know where my son has gone," Mormont declared as soon as he and Ned Stark were both seated. "He is not here, hiding in Castle Black."

"I did not come here to ask you that," Ned Stark replied. "Jorah fled taking his lady wife with him. It is unlikely that he would be coming to the Wall to take the black."

"Then why are you here, Lord Stark?"

Ned Stark gave no reply. The look on his face, however, told Mormont all he needed to know.

"My son committed a heinous crime. He deserves to be punished for it, and it is your duty to punish him," Mormont said firmly.

Death. Death was the punishment. Mormont glanced at Ned Stark's sword. Ice, it was called. He imagined the blade going through his son's head.

_Jorah. My son. What have you done?_

Had he done wrong, stepping down to allow his son to take up the lordship of Bear Island? Was it too soon? Should he have waited longer for Jorah to be more prepared?

Pointless. Regrets and second-guessing were pointless. Ned Stark had a duty to do, and he had his duty as well.

"Jorah left this in his bedchamber," Ned Stark was saying, holding out a sword to Mormont. "I thought it right to return it to you."

Longclaw. The bastard sword. Five hundred years of Valyrian steel and Mormont history. He had given it to his son when he took the black. Mormont's hands gripped the bear's head on the sword's hilt. Jorah's hands had grasped the same hilt when he took a knee and swore to his father to be a good lord to their people. Instead, he had sold poachers to slavers for gold dragons.

"Thank you," Mormont stood up and said stiffly to Ned Stark. The sight of Longclaw was a painful reminder of his many doubts and misgivings, but he was grateful to Ned Stark for bringing it to him nonetheless.


	5. Chapter 5: Edmure Tully

**Edmure Tully**

"Cat! Where are you? Cat!" There was no reply. Little Edmure continued looking for his sister. Maybe Cat was with Lysa, hugging her while Lysa cried for some silly thing or another. Lysa was older than Edmure, but much more of a baby in his mind.

"Lysa! Lysa!" But Lysa was nowhere to be seen either. Edmure looked and looked, to no avail.

Petyr, he thought. Lysa would follow Petyr around while Petyr followed Cat around. It was like a game of tag, but with more tears and crossed words. WhereverPetyr was, Edmure's sisters were sure to be there as well. He ran out to the meadows. They were not there. He climbed the elm tree he was not supposed to climb anymore after he fell and broke his arm that time, but he could not see them even from that up high.

When he fell and broke his arm, Cat had made him promise never to climb trees ever again. Edmure had promised her because she looked so sad and in pain, as though she was the one with the broken bones, but sometimes he forgot. And in any case he was a boy and boys climbed trees, that's what Petyr said. Edmureusually paid no mind to Petyr, but Petyr was a boy too and he was fun to play with. Sometimes. When he was not mooning over Cat like a silly cow.

Finally Edmure gave up looking for them and made his way to the godswood. He liked it there better than the sept. There was no septon or septa to wag their fingers at him telling Edmure to be a good boy, and how much high hopes his lord father had for his one and only son. He heard giggles in the godswood. Lysa'sgiggle. But Cat's too. Cat was giggling? That did not happen often. Sometimes Cat would laugh when Edmure made funny voices while she was reading him a bedtime story.

Petyr was with them. He was sweating heavily. His hands were on Cat's shoulders, holding on so tightly Edmure thought he was going to hurt her. Edmurestepped forward. "Leave her alone!" He was about to say, when Cat suddenly brought her face closer to Petyr's face. She did not look upset or displeased. What were they doing? Edmure was perplexed. He tried to get a better look, but was worried his sisters might spot him.

"You smell of mint," Edmure heard Cat saying to Petyr.

Petyr was smiling, a huge grin on his small face. "Did you like it?" He asked Cat boldly.

Cat did not reply. She turned to Lysa and said, "Your turn."


	6. Chapter 6: Alayne Baelish

**Alayne Baelish**

Petyr would not stop talking about the eldest Tully daughter. Catelyn. Cat, he called her, even as Alayne wondered if it was her son's place to call Lord Tully's daughter by the family's pet name.

"They have a pet name for me too," Petyr replied when Alayne voiced her concern. "Littlefinger. Edmure gave me that name."

Littlefinger? That did not sound like a name that indicated fondness. It sounded almost … mocking. Of Petyr's small size, perhaps? Her son had grown since she saw him last, but he was still short and small for his age. He would never grow to be as tall as his father had been, Alayne suspected. The men on her side of the family were mostly short and slender in build.

"It's because I'm from The Fingers, see?" Petyr explained to his mother. "And _Little_ because we have so little land.

Contrary to her worries, her son did not act as if he was uncomfortable or embarrassed to be home, staying at their modest house with the constant smell of dung fire that was surely a far cry than the comfort and luxury of Riverrun. Petyr treated his mother and the servants as he always had, with no sign that he now thought they were beneath him. "He's just the same sweet boy as he was," Grisel who had been Petyr's wet nurse told her with amazement.

But Alayne knew better. She saw other changes - subtle changes, yes - but changes that disquieted her nonetheless. Petyr did not sound upset or embarrassed by the name Edmure Tully had given him, true, but she sensed a determination to return the mockery, somehow. One morning as they were watching Kella minding the sheep, he spoke of what a marvel it would be, if a boy born heir to some rocks and sheep pellets were to make a match with the daughter of Lord of Riverrun.

Was he talking about himself? Alayne had thought all his talk about Catelyn Tully had been foolish boyish affection, one that would fade in time as he grew older, as he became more aware about the way of the world.

"Catelyn Tully is not for you, Petyr. She is much too old for you, for one," Alayne told her son, desperate to make him see the impossibility of the match. Age was the least of the problem. Hoster Tully would never agree to it, Alayne knew with certainty. And Lord Tully might even be offended, appalled that the boy he had generously taken on as a ward had the temerity to think above his station.

"Only four years older, Mother. That is nothing. Father was more than ten years older than you were when you married him," Petyr replied.

"It is different for a man. And Lord Tully would want his daughter to marry well," she said firmly. It was time to put an end to this nonsense, for Petyr's own good. She did not want him to spend his life pining over a woman that could never be his. "Someone from a Great House, or at least a lord with significant power and holdings of his own."

_Not people like us, Petyr. Not modest lords whose ancestors were sellswords and hedge knights._

"Don't worry, Mother. I will prove myself to be more worthy than a thousand of those lords," Petyr replied, smiling enigmatically.


	7. Chapter 7: Tywin Lannister

**Tywin Lannister**

"It is done, my lord."

"I heard. Both children?"

Gregor Clegane nodded. "The mother too," he added.

Tywin Lannister turned his head almost imperceptibly. "The mother? I said nothing about the mother."

Clegane met his gaze without flinching. "She was with the boy in the nursery, and refused to part with him. There was no way to get to the boy without –"

Tywin interrupted. "Yet you had time to have your way with her. Did you do that before or after you killed the boy?"

"Does it matter, my lord? Rhaegar Targaryen's children are both dead, as you commanded."

It would matter to Doran Martell and Dorne. That could prove to be an unwelcomed complication, Tywin thought. It had not occurred to him that he should have reminded Clegane not to rape Elia Martell. In hindsight, perhaps it should have. But what was done was done. He would have to try to make the best of the situation.

"And the girl? You did the deed yourself?"

Clegane suddenly looked ill-at-ease. Surely he did not rape the girl too? Tywin wondered. How old was she? Four, five? Clegane's appetite could not have run _that_ deviant, could it?

"Amory Lorch killed the girl, my lord," Clegane replied.

"And?" Tywin persisted.

"Lorch went overboard and stabbed her over and over again."

That would mean blood. A lot of blood. Another unwanted complication. "I told you to smother the children with pillows," Tywin said impatiently. It was supposed to be done cleanly and efficiently. This was beginning to sound much too messy for his liking. The last thing he needed were martyred children.

"The girl was hiding under her father's bed, and she tried to run away when Lorch came into the room. A pillow was not a possibility, my lord," Clegane replied.

"I suppose there was a lot of blood?"

Clegane looked surprised by the question, as if he had not expected Tywin Lannister to be the squeamish sort.

Tywin set the record straight immediately. "Robert Baratheon might object to the sight of bloodied children, even as he's secretly relieved the threats to his throne have been so conveniently removed without him having to dirty his own hands. Wrap the bodies in crimson cloaks. It would hide the bloodstains, and remind Robert Baratheon that his throne was secured by House Lannister."


	8. Chapter 8: Orys Baratheon

**Orys Baratheon**

Argella had her eyes fully opened when her men dragged her in chains and threw her at Orys' feet. She stared at him defiantly, despite the cold, despite her shivering naked flesh. _Do your worst_, her gaze told him. _I am not afraid_.

Instead of giving up and surrendering after her father was defeated, she had barred herself and her people inside Storm's End and declared herself the Storm Queen. The warrior in Orys admired her tenacity and boldness, even as the military general in him was frustrated by her refusal to admit defeat, when defeat was all but inevitable.

Her defiance seemed to falter, just for a moment, when he commanded the chains to be removed. She closed her eyes tightly when he took a blanket and covered her body. She opened them again when he offered her wine. The look of defiance had been replaced with something else. Hatred. Pure, undiluted hatred, that's what he saw in her eyes. She drank the wine as if she had not drunk anything for days. "Thank you, my lord, for your kindness," she said, sounding more resentful than truly grateful.

"You should have killed me, like you killed my father," she told him later, when he came to her that night to speak to her about their marriage, about joining their two Houses together. "If you slayed my father because he was the enemy, why not slay me as well? I am the Storm Queen, like my father was the Storm King. Am I not worthy to be considered your enemy? Am I only worthy of your pity and mercy?"

Pride. Orys recognized it at once, for it was one of his most defining qualities as well. Argella Durrendon was a very proud woman, not one to look kindly on the kindness of enemies. "You are more valuable to me alive than dead," he told her brusquely. "I am under orders to consolidate the Targaryen hold on the stormlands. Marrying you will allow me to do that." He paused, before continuing, "That is a far greater punishment than death, to spend your days until the end of your life with your mortal enemy. I spared even your father that. There is no pity or mercy in my actions towards you, only a recognition of what has to be done."

That seemed to satisfy Argella. "You may find our marriage to be a punishment for you as well, not just for me," she replied, her voice an ominous warning.

"We'll see," Orys said.


	9. Chapter 9: Asha Greyjoy

**Asha Greyjoy**

Her father had his first kill when he was fifteen. At thirteen - Asha's age -Balon Greyjoy was already an expert oarsman, and by seventeen he was captaining his own longship. Asha aspired to be at least as good as her father, or even better.

"Let me sail with Rodrik to take Seagard," Asha begged her father, when the rebellion first broke out. "I am better with an axe than Rodrik."

"You are to stay here to protect your mother and Theon," her father commanded her. When news came of Rodrik's death, Asha's mother pleaded with Balon to bend the knee to Robert Baratheon, for the sake of their remaining children. Balon refused.

"Let him try to take Pyke and be destroyed," Balon declared. Asha wanted to fight by her brother Maron's side, guarding the walls and resisting the invaders. Again, she was told to stay in the castle to protect her mother and her little brother.

When Maron died and Robert Baratheon's forces swarmed into Pyke, her father finally bended his knee. He knelt in the presence of Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark, while Asha's mother held Theon and Asha tightly behind him.

"Your son as proof of your loyalty," Robert Baratheon declared, not satisfied with Balon's bending his knee.

Asha's mother cried, pleaded and begged, to no avail. "He will be treated as my ward, not as a hostage," Eddard Stark promised her.

But hostage was certainly what Theon would be. Asha had no illusion about that. Another rebellion, and Theon's life would be forfeited. Theon did not cry. Her father did not cry. And Asha certainly did not cry, not in the presence of their enemies.

Her mother never stopped mourning her boys, even the one still living. Her father never stopped cursing Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark, the men he held responsible for the loss of his sons. Asha thought of her little brother Theon sometimes, and what hardship was befalling him at Winterfell, but in truth, she had been closer to Rodrik and Maron. She wanted to do all the things her older brothers did, and wanted to do them better, so she followed Rodrik and Maron everywhere. Theon was too young for their games and their battles.

"You are the only child I have left," her father told her one day, handing her a new, shiny axe. "You will captain ships, raid shores and kill men like your brothers did, like Greyjoys have done for hundreds of years."

"What about Theon?" Asha asked. One day, when she was strong enough to aid her father, perhaps they could -

"He is lost to me," Balon replied swiftly, staring into the night.


	10. Chapter 10: Bloodraven

**Shiera Seastar/Bloodraven**

"No? Your answer is still no? After all this time?"

"Why do you persist in asking the question when you already know what my answer would be?"

"It is not a question, Shiera. It is a proposal." A marriage proposal, one he had extended to his half-sister countless times before, and been rejected just as many times.

"Aelinor was praying in the Great Sept again today. Praying to the Mother for a son, I gather. Someone should tell our good Queen that prayers do not make babies. Bedding does," Shiera said, her fingers gently caressing the birthmark on his cheek. "Perhaps you should turn your effort in another direction, Brynden. Making sure our King beds his wife and plants his seeds in her, quickly. Aerys needs a son to inherit his throne. If one of his brothers becomes king … if Maekar becomes king …"

He was always Brynden to her, the name his mother had given him, never Bloodraven. Just like Bittersteel was always Aegor to Shiera. She had bedded Aegor too, Bloodraven was convinced of it. True, she had bedded many men in her times, was still bedding them now in between his visits for all he knew, but none troubled Bloodraven as much as their traitorous half-brother Aegor.

He stared at her. Shiera had a smile on her face, a smile that heightened the contrast between her mismatched eyes.

"What do you find so amusing?" He asked, irritated with her complacency. _I want more. Don't you want more?_

"Aelinor is wedded but never bedded, not even once. You are bedded – many, many times and to your great satisfaction – but not wedded," she replied, amused.

He did not share her amusement. "We can change that," he told her.

The smile faded from her face. "Why would I want to change anything?" She asked. "I am content and happy as I am."

"We would be happier as husband and wife. And when we have children, they would not be bastards," he replied.

_You would be mine, Shiera. Mine and mine alone._

"Marriage did not stop our father from taking countless mistresses, our own mothers among them. Marriage did not stop him from producing an army's worth of bastards either."

"I am not our father," Bloodraven said vehemently.

"Perhaps. But a marriage vow has never stopped men from straying and taking mistresses or fucking any whore or tavern wench that caught their eyes. For a woman, it's a different story altogether."

He raised his voice. "So that's the reason? You will not marry me because it would mean you cannot bed other men?"

"I will not marry you because I do not wish to belong to anyone except myself," Shiera replied, her voice as calm as if she was telling him about the season. "I will still gladly bed you," she declared, her hand playing with the sapphire-and-emerald necklace on her throat.

He could never resist her, not like this.


	11. Chapter 11: Davos Seaworth

**Blessed**

They had no food with which to feed another mouth, but his wife had insisted. "I will share my own portion with her," Betha said, cradling their newborn son in her arms. The latest addition to their already large brood was a healthy-looking lad, suckling greedily at his mother's breast. Betha would need all the food they could spare, so Dale gave half his own portion to the strange woman who had knocked on their door asking for shelter from the heavy rain.

The older children stared at the woman while they ate their bread. She smiled at them, her heart-shaped face perhaps the loveliest sight his children had ever laid eyes on in all their years on earth. "Where did you come from, m'lady?" Dale's eldest daughter asked the stranger.

"I am not a lady, merely a servant of god," the woman replied, her voice deep and melodious.

"Then the Mother will keep you in her protection, always," Betha said eagerly. She had prayed to the Mother for another son, and her prayers had been answered. Davos, they had named the babe.

"The Mother, well. Perhaps there is a higher power out there more powerful than the Seven," the woman replied, her tone mysterious.

Dale was startled. What could be more powerful than the Seven? Was the woman from the North, perhaps, a worshiper of the old gods? Before Dale could ask, she was asking Betha a question of her own.

"What is the name of your babe?"

"Davos, m'lady," Betha replied. "Would you like to hold him?" She asked the woman shyly.

Dale was about to object, but the woman was already holding out her hands to take Davos into her arms. She held the baby expertly, as if she had held many babies in her time. She lifted the cloth covering part Davos' face and stared at the babe for a long while. Her face shifted and transformed, hardening, then softening, then hardening again. The sight of it disquieted Dale. He was about to snatch his son away from the woman, when she handed Davos to Betha herself, in a quick but gentle motion.

"He will grow to be a famous man, your son," the woman said. "A famous knight whose name is known all over the kingdom."

The children laughed with delight. Betha laughed too. "Oh I should think not! Not for the likes of us, being famous knights. I only pray that he will grow to be a strong and healthy lad, and father plenty of children, just like his father," Betha said, her hand patting her husband's lap.

"He will father many sons, yes, I see that too," the woman replied, but with a sad look in her eyes. Why should this strange woman be sad that his Davos would be a father to many sons? The woman was making Dale more and more uncomfortable. He was relieved when she declined Betha's offer to stay the night at their hut.

"We shall meet again one day," the woman whispered in Davos' ear as she was leaving, but Dale heard her clearly. Perhaps he was meant to hear. Davos began to cry loudly.

Betha tried to soothe her shrieking son. "He's usually such a good baby. Don't know what got into him tonight. I expect he's afraid of that choker you're wearing, m'lady. What is that, ruby?" Betha asked.

The woman left without giving a reply.


	12. Chapter 12: Stannis Baratheon

**Maester Cressen tells young Stannis the story of Bloodraven and Maekar Targaryen.**

"Why did King Aerys I choose his uncle to be his Hand, Maester?"

"Some say the king was bewitched by his uncle's spells and lies. Do you remember what Brynden Rivers was also called?"

"Bloodraven, on account of the birthmark on his face and neck," Stannis replied. "Was he truly a sorcerer?"

Maesters were not supposed to believe in magic, only in knowledge and truths that could be verified. Yet Cressen wondered about Bloodraven and his supposed powers. He truly wondered. He did not share his misgivings with the young boy under his charge, however.

"Those were merely stories told by his enemies and by those who found Lord Brynden a poor choice to be Hand of the King. Lord Brynden did make several controversial and ill-judged decisions as Hand. He ordered the smallfolks not to leave their land, even as they were starving because of a long drought, causing many to perish needlessly," Cressen said.

"The smallfolks blamed him for the drought, didn't they? They said it was a punishment from the Seven because Bloodraven was a kinslayer. But Maester, if the sin was Lord Bloodraven's, why would the gods punish everyone else?" Stannis asked, frowning.

Other maesters would have called that question impertinent, but not Cressen. He smiled fondly at Stannis. The boy was curious and thoughtful, not content to simply accept the things told to him by others without questioning. "It was not a punishment from the gods, the drought was a natural cycle, like the coming of winter. But the kingdom was unprepared for it at that time, and no food had been stored beforehand," Cressen told Stannis.

"King Aerys should have made his brother Maekar his Hand," Stannis declared. "He turned out to be a good king later, Maekar Targaryen. I'm sure he would have been a good Hand as well, better than Lord Bloodraven."

Maekar Targaryen had indeed expected to be appointed Hand of the King by his brother Aerys, and had retired to his residence at Summerhall in protest when their bastard uncle Bloodraven was appointed instead. He spent years sulking because of the slight, some said. Cressen did not think it wise to mention that to Stannis, considering Maekar Targaryen was Stannis' great great grandfather.

"Well, it is for us to heed history and learn from the mistakes of our ancestors," Cressen told the boy. Stannis nodded in agreement.


	13. Chapter 13: Ashara Dayne

**Ned Stark brings Arthur Dayne's sword Dawn to his sister Ashara.**

She was heavy with child, the lady Ashara, Ned's eyes could not fail to register. Wartime marriages were common - his own union with Catelyn had been arranged hastily after Brandon's death – but Ned had not heard any news that Ashara Dayne was wed. But that was hardly his concern. He came here for a different matter.

"How did my brother die?" She asked, her eyes never meeting his own.

"He died doing his duty as a Kingsguard," Ned replied.

She waited.

"He was slain in single combat," Ned continued.

She continued to wait.

"I killed him," Ned said, finally.

She closed her eyes tightly, but no tears came. "What was Arthur doing at Tower of Joy?"

"Guarding my sister Lyanna, on Rhaegar Targaryen's order."

Her eyes were opened now, those haunting violet eyes, the same shape and color as her brother's eyes. Ned had stared into Arthur Dayne's eyes as he was dying. "Bring my sword home to my sister. Tell Ashara I am sorry. Please, Eddard," the man had said with his dying breath.

Ashara Dayne was paying her brother's sword Dawn scant attention, however. "Is your sister safe, at least?" She asked Ned.

Ned shook his head, but was too overcome with grief to say a word.

Ashara was startled. "Arthur didn't … he didn't harm your sister, did he?"

"No," Ned replied swiftly. "Lyanna … she died of a fever."

Childbed fever, but Ned had promised Lya that would be their secret forever.

Ashara rose and walked to the window, staring out to sea. "Arthur was Sword of the Morning, and now dusk has set. My baby will be born without a father."

Ned was not certain he had heard correctly. He cleared his throat.

"The Targaryens wed brothers and sisters for hundreds of years,"Ashara said, her tone defensive.

"It is not my place to judge, my lady," Ned replied softly.

"We loved each other, Arthur and I, despite his vows." She was weeping now, the tears coming down furiously as if a floodgate had suddenly been forced to open.

"He wanted me to tell you that he is sorry," Ned said.

"He is forgiven."

"I am sorry for your loss, my lady. More than I can say."

"You are forgiven too, Lord Stark."


	14. Chapter 14: Willas Tyrell

**_"Willas has a bad leg but a good heart," said Margaery. "He used to read to me when I was a little girl, and draw me pictures of the stars." (A Storm of Swords)_**

His stories grew darker and darker after his first and only tourney. He did not come to Margaery's room to read to her as he used to; she went to him instead, in his sickroom that was almost always dark, day and night.

"Read to me, Willas," she asked, pulling the curtain to let the sun in.

"No!" He shouted, angry at her as he had never been before.

"It's too dark," Margaery said. "How can you see the words in the book?"

"I don't need to see the words. I know the story by heart. The whole damn story, and how it will end," Willas replied bitterly.

She had never heard him curse or swear before. Margaery set the book aside and sat on her brother's bed.

"Do you want to hear the story of the gallant knight, or the crippled heir?" Willas asked.

"I want to hear about the crippled heir who becomes a gallant –"

"I will never be a knight, sweet sister. Not now."

"- who becomes a gallant and good lord."

He did not smile as she had hoped, but he looked slightly less bitter and miserable than he did when she first came into the room. He drew more stars for her, but these were not stars in the night sky, he told her. They were the stars he saw when the sun was shining brightly, and he thought he would never see her again.


	15. Chapter 15: Rhaegar Targaryen

**Rhaegar Targaryen**

"Can I ride Balerion, Father?"

"He is not really a dragon, Rhaenys. He's a kitten."

"I know that," the girl giggled.

"You should call him Meraxes instead," Rhaegar said.

"Why?"

"Balerion is the name of Aegon's dragon. Meraxes is Rhaenys' dragon."

"That's why kitty is Balerion. He is black and scary like King Aegon's dragon."

The kitten did not look scary. It was trying to snuggle close to little Rhaenys' leg. The girl ran around in circles, shrieking with excitement as her black kitten tried to chase her. She took pity on the creature after a while, holding it in her arms and caressing its head gently.

Rhaegar had meant a different Aegon. _His_ Aegon – his son, not the first Aegon Targaryen. Three dragons would require three riders, there was no getting around that. Aegon to ride Balerion as his namesake did, Rhaenys to ride Meraxes as her namesake did, and another child, a daughter to ride Vhagar like Visenya did.

The maester had been adamant and unequivocal after Aegon's birth. "Another childbirth will kill her, Your Grace. I do not think the princess will even survive carrying another child to term."

"You have your heir, and a daughter too," his mother had said. "Elia has more than done her duty."

But his mother did not understand. No one did. They never saw the things he had seen, in dreams that stood out more vividly than his every waking moment ever did. He needed a Visenya of his own, a proud and passionate warrior like the first Visenya Targaryen.

_The mother would have to be similarly_ -

"Father, look!"

Rhaenys was trying to mount the kitten, which was desperately trying to get away from her.

"Leave the kitten be, Rhaenys. Would you like to ride on my back instead?"

She nodded eagerly. He carried his daughter on his back from the garden to Aegon's nursery, Balerion following them quietly the whole way.


	16. Chapter 16: Duncan Targaryen

**Duncan Targaryen giving up the throne for Jenny of Oldstones**

He first saw her in the ruins of Oldstones, a girl with flowers in her hair, and flowers in her hand she laid down on the tomb of the old king of the rivers and the hills. They would sing a sad song about her later, Jenny of Oldstones dancing with her ghosts in the halls of the kings who were long gone. But the song was mistaken – she had not been dancing, she was sitting motionless, her head tilted, her ears cocked, listening, waiting. Patiently. Waiting for what, he knew not.

But _she_ was what he had been waiting for, his entire life, without ever knowing it. With King Tristifer's carved likeness watching over them, they spoke of the things never before spoken, of the hearts never before touched, of the lives never before pondered, of the love never before sensed. They came back to the ruins of the castle again and again, each time the bond between them growing stronger and stronger.

"I will be back," he promised her when he finally had to leave, "and we will be together." She gave him a flower from her hair, and he held it in his palm still when he confronted his father.

"You should have married one of your sisters, but you did not. You chose to marry for love, Father. How can you deny me the same now?"

"I was not born heir to the throne. Aegon the Unlikely, the fourth son of a fourth son. Did you forget what I am called? When I chose my bride, I did not know I would be king one day. But you … you are my heir. You will be king, and the woman you marry will be queen."

Jenny. Jenny of Oldstones. She was not the daughter of a lord, or even a knight. How would the lords and ladies at court react to a lowborn queen? More importantly, how would they treat her?

Not kindly, he feared.

"I am not a cruel man," his father said. "But if you truly love this girl, you will know that marrying her and making her queen will be a great cruelty and unkindness towards her."

He saw the wisdom of his father's words. "Then I will not make her queen," he replied calmly.

"A mistress, then? Like Aegon IV and his many paramours and bastards, and all the bloodshed that caused after his death?" There was deep disappointment in his father's voice.

"No," he replied swiftly. "I will wed Jenny, but if I am not king, then she need not be queen."

There were both anger and sadness in his father's voice as he reasoned, admonished and finally implored his son not to decide too hastily on a decision of that magnitude. But to Duncan's relief, he detected no disappointment lurking around this time.


	17. Chapter 17: Garlan Tyrell

**_"My brother Willas gave me that name, as it happens. To protect me. I was a plump little boy, I fear, and we do have an uncle called Garth the Gross. So Willas struck first, though not before threatening me with Garlan the Greensick, Garlan the Galling, and Garlan the Gargoyle." (A Storm of Swords)_**

"I was a plump little boy too," Father said, laughing, "and look at me now. Don't worry, Garlan." Garlan stared at his father's belly and his ample girth, and was not reassured at all. Father meant well, Garlan knew, but he must have forgotten how terrible it was to be a boy cruelly teased by other boys.

And teased by girls, too.

And in any case, Grandmother insisted that Father had not been plump little boy at all. "As slender and graceful as Willas, your father was, as a young boy. He must have eaten too many puff fish later to swell up that much."

Garlan the Gross, he had heard those names whispered behind his back. The more imaginative boys had dissented; there was already a Garth the Gross in the Tyrell family. Garlan the Girth, they suggested. Garlan the Giant, others said.

No one would dare call him those names to his face – his father was Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South after all – but just like the whole Reach knew Garth Tyrell was also called Garth the Gross, Garlan feared that those names would stick to him as well. Garlan the Giant might not be so bad, he told Willas. There were giants beyond the Wall, famed for their strength.

"But they wouldn't be calling me Garlan the Giant for my strength, would they?" Garlan asked his brother sadly.

Willas said nothing, which was answer enough for Garlan. "Giants are yesterday's news," Willas said later with all seriousness. "Gargoyles, now, they are far more impressive. Garlan the Gargoyle. How about that?"

Garlan was never certain when his brother was speaking in jest; Willas's expression gave nothing away.

"A gargoyle is uglier than a giant!" Garlan protested.

"How do you know? You've never seen a giant," Willas replied.

"I wish I could see a giant," Garlan said with wonder in his voice.

"We will, one day," Willas promised.

"When, Willas? When can we see a giant? Can we travel beyond the Wall, just the two of us? Will Father let us go, do you think?"

"Settle down, or I might call you Garlan the Galling for being so irritating," Willas replied, but he was smiling listening to his brother's excited chatter. "On second thought, Garlan the Gallant is perhaps better," Willas continued.

Garlan frowned. "But I am just a boy, not a gallant knight. How can I be Garlan the Gallant?"

"You don't have to be a knight to be gallant. And not all knights are gallant anyhow," Willas said.

And so he was Garlan the Gallant from that day on. Willas said so, and everyone followed suit because Willas was beloved in Highgarden – he was Lord Tyrell's oldest son and heir, who would be a gallant knight himself soon, after he fought in his first tourney in a few moon's turn.


End file.
